


you can do it foot lads

by trainsimulator



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, interactive introverts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainsimulator/pseuds/trainsimulator
Summary: Just a little bit of fluff based on Phil's instagram story of Dan watching the England game





	you can do it foot lads

Home. They are finally home, for more than two days in a row, that is. The trip to the US is just around the corner, with its endless weeks on the bus and in hotel rooms, but for now they are back at their apartment, where it smells funny from being uninhabited, and where Dan dumps his suitcase and backpack in the hallway and wordlessly leaves a trail of clothes on the floor as he makes his way to the shower. He has been quiet for a while now, basically staring out of plane and taxi windows with his headphones on but not even focussing on the songs or even the view. It’s not that it had been a long flight or a particularly exhausting day at that, but all he wants now is to wash away the travelling and make himself feel at home again.

Apparently Phil had had the same idea, as after the shower he finds him in front of their wardrobe, only dressed in a towel and looking for something to wear, something that hasn’t been crumpled up in a suitcase for two weeks and smells of the used laundry that had been pressed up against it.

“You okay?” Phil asks, glancing at Dan who takes a jumper off a pile of merch, and some tracksuit bottoms from another pile and starts rummaging around in a drawer for a pair of underwear.

“I will be in a minute,” Dan replies, grabbing some grey Calvin Klein’s and letting his own towel drop to the floor unceremoniously in order to get dressed. “I need clothes, and Ribena, and pizza, and then I’m not doing shit until we leave again.”

Phil chuckles. “I’ll do the pizza ordering, you get started on the not doing shit part, ok?”

“And that’s why I moved in with you,” Dan says, quickly tousling his hair after putting on his jumper, and kissing Phil on the shoulder before starting to make his way to the kitchen in search of Ribena. “That and a few minor other things.”

“Always glad I can be of help. Pineapple pizza, I assume?” Phil asks, and Dan can hear him laughing when he shouts back at him from the stairs.

“If you want to do the rest of the tour by yourself, you go ahead and order that!”

# # #

Dan groans as he plops down on the carpet, leans back against his giant fuzzy bean bag, and closes his eyes. Phil had shamed him for buying that, telling him that it was ok if he wanted to identify as a wolf, but did he really have the furniture look like a wolf as well? Dan himself thinks it’s among the best things he recently bought; its soft and warm against his back, and he wiggles his shoulders deeper into the bean bag so the little styrofoam beads inside cradle him like a nest. He can hear Phil downstairs on the phone, probably with the pizza place, and he rubs his bare feet over the carpet just because he can, because it’s their own carpet and not a hotel room carpet used by hundreds of people before them, and he’s feeling better than he has in days. Even if from tomorrow on being home probably just means doing laundry and filming some gaming videos so they can upload while being on tour, tonight there is nothing scheduled and Dan is determined to be as lazy and relaxed as he possibly can.

“Pizza takes 30 minutes!” Phil calls up the stairs. “I’m gonna unpack, ok?”

“Uh-huh,” Dan replies, sitting up a bit and grabbing the remotes from the coffee table. If Phil is keeping himself busy, he might as well do the same thing, he figures, and he is more than glad they had decided to get those power sockets which can be switched on by remote, so he doesn’t even have to get up to watch TV. He switches on the power and the TV, thinking he might maybe watch the news, fill himself in on what has happened apart from the stuff that made it to twitter, or maybe... football, he thinks as he channel-hops from one station to another. Sure, why not. Everyone is watching football these days, and it’s England playing, after all. Maybe he could even have a moment of patriotism in case they win.

England score first, and there is actual cheering outside on the street somewhere. Dan still thinks it’s a bit of a silly sport, all those men chasing after a ball for what seems like ages, but he keeps on watching as it’s also kind of entertaining, just a nice hum in the background with the occasional excitement of someone attempting to score another goal, and at some point the doorbell rings and he can hear Phil talk to the pizza man before starting to make his way up the stairs. 

“Dan, dinner’s... what the hell?” 

Dan turns around, seeing Phil resting the hot pizza boxes on top of the banister and looking at him in disbelief.

“You said a bad word,” he says in mock horror.

“It was only appropriate,” Phil justifies himself, raising his eyebrows. “Mind if I film this for instagram? Shock the fans and then stay off there for tonight.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Dan agrees, and Phil takes their food to the kitchen counter before returning to the stairs to make the video seem more spontaneous. It’s only a few seconds of Dan watching TV, then turning around to Phil and looking at him as if in fact it was Phil being strange, before Phil chucks his phone into the corner of their sofa and gets the pizzas from the kitchen, along with a bottle of rosé from their cupboard. They eat on the floor, like back in the good old days in their first London flat when they hadn’t bought a sofa yet, and it’s a proper Italian feast, or at least as Italian as it can get in the middle of London with wine from Tesco’s and pizza from a takeaway which happens to serve Turkish food as well. Phil has ordered him a vegetarian monstrosity with several kinds of vegetables, and Dan feels like this is the most perfect day in a while. They’ve had great days on tour; the fans have been nice and funny and there have been new cities and Bryony’s visit and his birthday, but home is still home, and pizza at home with Phil will always be one of his favourite things.

“This was so good,” Dan sighs when he has finished his last bite, and leans back against the bean bag again. He is feeling just the right amount of full from the pizza and warm from the wine, and he smiles up at Phil contentedly.

“Better?”, Phil smiles back as he starts gathering the pizza boxes and napkins.

“So much better. I’m sorry I was a bit... off today,” he apologises, taking another sip of wine. “I just... I really needed to arrive and do nothing for a minute, I guess.”

“I know. There’s no need to be sorry,” Phil reassures him, taking the remains of their dinner to the kitchen while Dan focuses back on the game. There isn’t that much happening at the moment; Tunisia have scored a goal in the meantime, but now it’s just endless running and passing the ball to and fro and Dan thinks they might as well change the rules and have the game end after an hour instead of 90 minutes to spare everyone from the boredom.

He pours himself some more wine and turns around in surprise when he can feel the sofa dip behind him and Phil is placing his legs to the left and right of his bean bag.

“Aren’t you sitting with me anymore?” He asks, leaning his head back so he gets an upside-down view of Phil, who is shaking his head.

“Nah, it’s getting uncomfortable,” he states, scooting closer to the edge of the sofa. “Can you come any closer?”

Dan presses his back and elbows into the bean bag, pushing himself as far back as possible until his shoulders are between Phil’s thighs, and he can feel the other’s fingers in his hair.

“Perfect, thanks,” Phil says softly, and Dan smiles to himself, sinking a bit deeper so it’s a more comfortable angle for Phil. He has always loved Phil playing with his hair, and ever since he is leaving it in its curly state, somehow it’s feeling even nicer, having Phil pick single strands of hair and curling them around his finger.

He first tries to keep his attention on the match, thinking that now that he almost made it all the way through he should watch the whole thing, but in the end he closes his eyes and concentrates on Phil’s fingers, on the gentle tug when a strand of hair is being twisted around Phil’s index finger, on the feeling of Phil’s fingertips on his scalp. He’s feeling somewhat tipsy from the wine, the fur of the bean bag is warm against his back and he feels like he wants to stay like this for the rest of the night. He trembles when Phil runs his fingernails up the skin behind his ears ever so softly, but it’s the good kind of trembling, and he can’t help a tiny noise escape his mouth because he loves this feeling so much.

“You’re distracting,” he murmurs, and Phil chuckles quietly.

“Don’t tell me you were actually watching the game,” Phil says, and Dan can feel him tracing the tip of his ear with his fingertip before combing his fingers through his hair again. “Do you mind, though?”

“Do I ever?” Dan asks quietly, resting his head against Phil’s thigh and rubbing against it slightly. There is cheering outside and on the TV, but he doesn’t even bother to open his eyes. “Did we score?”

“Yupp,” Phil says. “I guess that was us winning then, it’s 91 Minutes aready.”

“Go sports,” Dan yawns, and it’s not long before he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
